Tzivia Gover - Joy in Every Moment: Mindful Exercises for Waking to the Wonders of Ordinary Life

For Miranda,

who came into this world

with her light shining bright,

and who teaches

and inspires me even when

she doesnt know it.

I have been lavishly blessed with a close, caring family and deep and loving friendships, as well as with teachers (those who knowingly signed up for the job and many more who didnt). I am constantly aware of and awake to the fact that this book, as well as the richness and beauty of my life, are the result of the amazing people I am so lucky to know and who support me with their wisdom and love. Here are just a few who have in some way touched and blessed this project:

Deborah Balmuth and Sarah Guare, along with all the creative, dedicated folks at Storey Publishing; Mitchell S. Waters of the Curtis Brown Literary Agency; my family of dreamers at the International Association for the Study of Dreams; Aja Riggs, Anita Gallers, Betsy Grund, Claudia V. Johnsen, Diane Gover, Dick Gover, Elise Gibson, Gale Fralin, Grace Welker, Hermine Mensink, James Gover, Jane Covell, Joanne Yoshida, Justina Lasley, Karen Levy, Laura Baughman, Lesla Newman, Lori Soderlind, Louis Moore, Miranda Sanders, Molly Hale, Rachel Hass, Rachel Kuhn, Riva Danzig, Sherry Treadaway-Puricelli, Sylvia Green-Guenette, and Virginia Pasternak; Patricia Lee Lewis and everyone at the Patchwork Farms Writers Retreat in Culebra; and Susan Stinson and the Writers Room at Forbes Library.

Thank you all for filling my life with joy!

Keep a green tree

in your heart

and perhaps

a singing bird

will come.

Chinese Proverb

On hearing a friend talk about her happy memories of childhood once, I complained that I didnt have joyful memories from being small. I was in my thirties, and I believed Id had a terrible childhood. I had plenty of evidence to back up my claim: my parents divorced when I was entering my teen years, my father had an explosive temper, and my siblings and I fought incessantly. Not only did I have very few happy memories, at the time I had very few childhood memories, period.

But my friend wasnt buying my bleak assessment of my past. You must have had some happy moments growing up, she insisted.

Determined to prove her wrong, I lay in bed that night trying to conjure up a happy memory from my grammar school days or earlier. I searched my past for anything: a color, a sound, a flash of memory that I could tug on, and that might unfurl a scene of pleasure; a little something that would make me smile to remember.

At first I just found myself staring into a vast, textured darkness. I thought the darkness confirmed my belief that there were no happy scenes to illuminate it, but perhaps it was simply the darkness of eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the parts of the picture that didnt fit the story Id been telling myself for so long.

As I continued to squint into the past, I remembered something Id learned on a guided hike through the woods in New England. The secret to tracking animals, the leader explained, is to place in your minds eye a search image of the paw print, or of the bird or animal youre looking for. You practice seeing it in your mind so you will recognize what you are looking for when you find it.

If I were to develop a search image for happiness, I wondered, what would it look like? Would it be brightly colored? Would it be a fluffy pink or sunny orange?

With these questions in mind, I sifted through memories of rooms and landscapes, until I saw the backyard at my grandparents house, decades ago when I was about 4 years old and my grandmother was still alive. I saw myself on the spring-green grass that edges up to the still blue water at the edge of their property. I remembered being happy playing there, under the arcing branches of the willow tree. I fell asleep with my sweet memory tucked beside me like a childs stuffed animal, my arm thoughtlessly brushing against it all night while I slept.

For the nights and weeks that followed, I repeated this exercise. Little by little I began to amass a collection of happy memories. I kept a notebook by my bed in which to record them, until eventually I no longer had to hunt so hard to capture and collect them.

For some people happiness comes easily. For more of us, we need to be active participants in the quest to attain it. As it turns out, both stories I tell myself are true. There were indeed very difficult parts of my childhood. But there was love, laughter, and joy, too. Seeing the whole picture, not just selected scenes, helps me to be fully who I am.

Healing is the process of becoming whole, and when I reflect on what I am most proud of in my life, it is the healing work I have done. That work has included forgiving, learning to choose love over fear at every turn, and affirming my commitment to self-growth and happiness by looking for the best in myself, in others, and in every situation I encounter.

I wrote this book to affirm my own process, and to offer it to you as something of a field guide to keep with you as you continue on your journey to a more joyful life.

Write the story of a scar you have, or of your wrinkles, or stretch marks. Describe this seeming imperfection in detail, and write out how you got it and the lessons it has taught you.

If you have a camera on your phone, snap pictures of small details from your day that you can tuck away as happy memories: the vibrant blue of a dropped glove on a sidewalk, rays of golden sunset behind a mountain of clouds, a rainbow swirl of graffiti on a crumbling building, or the first crocus at the edge of a tide of melting snow.

Whether you have few happy memories or photo albums stuffed with them, call the good times to mind as you lie in bed ready to fall asleep, when youre waiting for a bus or a subway train, or while youre on hold waiting for a customer service rep to come onto the phone line.